


in any world but ours

by orgiastique



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Drabble Collection, M/M, alternative universe, and one canon, bunch-o-au, entirely self-indulgent sorry, happys, sads
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-16
Updated: 2014-02-16
Packaged: 2018-01-11 23:48:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,133
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1179395
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orgiastique/pseuds/orgiastique
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Seven ways angry boyfriends could have been in love.</p>
            </blockquote>





	in any world but ours

**cloud-watching //**  his life is a vapor trail

The house plant Jean buys comes with a fairy. His name is Eren. According to a quick Internet search Jean runs on the legends of such creatures, Eren is supposed to be able to fit in his breast pocket and have red skin, but he looks just like any bratty teenager who spent too much of his childhood under the sun.

"It's better than looking deathly pale," Eren says, looking Jean up and down pointedly. His hand reaches for the basket of chips Jean has been looking forward to since that morning. "Indoors type?"

"Fair-skinned European," Jean corrects testily because he had counted on a companion that he will need to water once a week, not a pain-in-the-ass teenager he will have to babysit and share his snacks with.

When he mentions as much, Eren just flops onto his bed and kicks his feet. "I make better company than that thing." When he raises a finger, Jean expects him to point at the little potted plant, but instead he begins a list: "For one, you can talk and talk and talk and that thing will never say share your loneliness. Two: tree-hugging should remain strictly figurative, unless you enjoy scratching your fair, paper-thin, _European_ skin with bark. I, on the other hand, give great hugs. Whether or not you deserve them is a different story, though. Three--"

Eren's face is very close, all of a sudden. _There are pieces of the sky buried among the earthy green_ , Jean realizes as he stares into his eyes.

"Only people whose hearts beat in sync with mine can see me," Eren says. "This meeting is actually something of a miracle."

Jean feels the warmth of Eren's breath as he whispers _miracle_ against Jean's skin, and when Jean takes in a breath from that same pool of air, he feels Eren's words tremor inside his stomach like a tuning fork.

But then Eren is throwing his head back and laughing, off-rhythm and hysterical. Even as Jean realizes with a prick of irritation that he has been played, he appreciates the way Eren's laughter doesn't scrape against his throat on its way out. Maybe it's Eren's youth. Maybe it's just him.

Planting his face into his hands, Jean lets his back cave into a slouch. "I'm taking you back to the store."

"You can take that thing back but I'm staying here," Eren says.

"Aren't you a _part_ of that thing?"

"I guess." Eren shrugs. "But I can live for a month or two without it."

"What about after that?"

"I become sea foam? A falling star? I'd be an airplane if I had the choice, though." When he reaches for another chip, Jean moves the basket out of his reach and he falls off the bed. His dark hair splays messily over his face and he looks up at Jean with such a betrayed expression that Jean ends up handing him the basket with a resigned sigh.

"What, is it your dream to fly?" He sounds more condescending than he intends to, but Eren only scowls briefly before giving a firm nod. "Let's strike a deal, then," Jean says. "I help you become an... _airplane_ and you stop stealing my food."

"Oh, you're not making me leave?"

"Well, you'd already be flying away," Jean points out.

Eren agrees with too much trust for his small body, practically shaking with excitement. Jean worries for a moment that he will collapse underneath the weight of his anticipation, but Eren just picks up the next chip and crunches on.

 

"I'm ready!" Eren says, throwing open the bathroom door the next evening.

Jean jumps into the shower hurriedly. Sure, they've got the same man-bits and Eren's just a fucking kid, but _you just don't do shit like this, okay_. "Don't follow me into the bathroom!"

"But you said you'd help me fly," Eren insists, his voice bouncing off the bathroom tiles. This kid's body must be full of voltage, not blood, Jean decides.

"That's at _my_ convenience," Jean says. "Right now, I'm going to take a shower and go to sleep because I'm tired from work."

"But you promised!" Eren protests, distraught. A frown folds his face along the fault lines on his cheeks, by his eyes, between his eyebrows.

"Look," Jean says with a sigh, sticking his head past the shower curtain. "You're still a kid so you don't understand, but there are more important things in other people's lives than helping you reach your dreams, all right?"

In the silence that follows, Jean feels the foreshocks of an earthquake, but the raging disaster never comes. Eren just kind of looks like he's crumbling, which might actually be even worse. Long moments tick by like a metronome, measuring the distance between them, and when Jean opens his mouth to tell Eren to get out of the bathroom if he's done, Eren twists his fingers together and looks down at his feet.

"You're the one who doesn't get it at all," he says, body slumped, heavy at the knees. He stays locked in place.

Something twists in Jean's stomach. Maybe it's just the condensation from the shower fogging up his vision, but for a moment he thinks he sees iron chains there, shackling down this boy whose only wish is to fly.

 

It's not that Jean doesn't understand Eren completely. If it were up to him, he wouldn't have chosen to live every day in a string of déjà vu moments either, but more people end up this way than not so he doesn't feel like too much of a victim either.

There was a time, decades ago it seems (only it can't actually be that long ago because he isn't farting dust thank you very much), when adults would talk about growing up and being rooted and it would sound to his young, fearless ears like they were speaking of children like ground-dwellers meant to spend their lives in the place where the gardener sowed his seed. _But I was meant to be more, don't you see?_ Jean had shouted to himself repeatedly, like a record lost on loop, but as time passed, he felt his voice fading, fading until the shackles of the earth keeping him down turned into a kind of safety that freed him from reaching up towards the clouds that he would never be among. The pragmatism in him keeps him from looking back on choosing the path he did over the endless exhilaration of life aflight.

There's only looking down at the love bites on his skin left by misplaced staples and convincing himself that this is for the best.

 

Maybe he sees in Eren the person he wanted to be. Maybe he's a little touched by Eren's perseverance. Maybe it's just that despite Eren's awful temper and dumbass chattering, he does relieve Jean a bit of his loneliness.

Whatever the reason, Jean doesn't kick Eren out. He begins building him wings.

It's positive hell in the beginning because although Jean had thought at one point that he would have liked to build things for a living, he was thinking more like little artsy gadgets that decorate the desks of the frivolous, not bodily appendages meant to keep a 63-kg male in the sky. He's not one of the Wright Brothers, goddammit.

It takes a full three weeks of investing every waking moment outside of work into this project until Jean puts together something that looks even remotly viable. Still, there's endless tweaking ahead.

Jean feels Eren's excitement practically radiating off his body next to him.

"Aren't you afraid of falling back down?" Jean asks.

Eren looks at him with bright eyes. "Aren't you afraid of never rising far enough to fall?"

Jean whacks him in the head. Eren sticks out his tongue petulantly. "Don't say things that are too old for you."

"You're just immature for your age," Eren says. "You get angry when I steal your chips."

"And you throw a fit when I'm try to regain ownership of said chips," Jean says.

"I'm allowed to. I'm a kid," Eren says.

Jean groans, rolling his eyes. "If your wings malfunction when you're gliding over rocky mountain ranges, you'll know why," he warns.

"You wouldn't let me fall," Eren says, without missing a beat.

Jean raises an eyebrow at him. "You're underestimating my love for chips."

Running a reverent finger along the wiry frame of one wing, Eren smiles, wide and brilliant. "But you'd choose tearing off a piece of the clouds and eating it like cotton candy any day, wouldn't you?"

"I..." Jean begins to protest but isn't really sure that he can.

 

The big day comes another two weeks later. The sun hangs high and proud in the sky.

"Ready, Eren?" Jean says.

He feels Eren's fingers tighten against their hold on each other as Eren pays out all currency of energy in his body into a firm "yes." With a small jump, Jean propels the two of them into a sprint down the long track before them, leading into the sea. The wind embraces them in her wispy arms, carrying them forward, until Jean can barely feel his feet on earth.

"I feel like I'm already flying," Eren says, with such admiration of everything he's ever seen or known that Jean almost doesn't want to give him away to the world.

"Ever seen _Titanic_?" Jean asks jokingly, but Eren isn't even listening. Jean can't see his face, but he imagines the slivers of sky in his earth-green eyes glittering against the first rays of day hitting clear waters, melting over the waves unfurling into infinity.

When they hit the end of the runway and Eren's fingers untwine from his, Eren takes flight for real, a boy carried by dream-feathers, sun-kissed and smiling, wings too small for his heart swelling like helium. With his feet rooted against the concrete of the marina, where weeds break free through the cracks, struggling and losing (but trying all he same), Jean watches Eren soar beyond the horizon. He is a terrible, terrible beauty.

In a day, maybe a year, he will tumble like tears from the skies he so deeply adores, but in this moment at the very least, his heart beats with Jean's, vital and alive.

 

 **sugarcane //**  they'll chase you if you play their little game

It's like a little game they play.

With the heels of Jean's feet digging into his back, Eren shifts forward, the line of his spine following the flow of their bodies. The sharp, delicious whimpers leaving Jean's throat bounce off the walls and head straight to Eren's cock. He remembers watching a dirty movie a few months ago in the basement with Jean. He wouldn't mention it aloud, but he envied the way the girl, some blonde with these awful fake boobs, reacted to every touch to her body, without restrain, with abandon. Fake as it may have been, he wanted that for himself, to make that type of rawness rip from someone's throat. And while Jean doesn't scream like a porn star, for which Eren is to an extent glad because that shit is probably pretty embarrassing in real life, it's more than he's ever had. He finds it horribly irresistible.

He's kissing everywhere, leaving trails of heat of all colors, and Jean leans into them, unbelievably responsive, hedonistic, nothing at all like the grouchy, tense Jean Eren knows. But the moment Eren goes in for the lips, the image is shattered, and Jean makes a sound, whether out of protest or to distract, Eren isn't sure. Either way, it leaves him a little confused and a lot wanting, and with good reason, too. To want what you can't have is only human nature.

He should ask why. He's wanted to ask for so long because God, they're fucking already, and if they've conquered this step, why can't he even have a kiss from him. People always tell you that you should work from the fundamentals, building from the bottom up. Only, it wasn't the way it happened with them, and up until now, Eren hadn't thought it was a big deal because being able to kiss on the lips was something he'd taken for granted.

Jean's being a drama queen and making a big deal out of this. It's not like he's a prostitute and Eren's his regular. That, at least, Eren would understand. When you sell so much of yourself and your body and soul don't feel like they're your own anymore, there's naturally something you'd want to save for your own keeps. But the thing is, Jean doesn't sell his body, and Eren isn't just around for the sex. Eren isn't close to Jean the same way he is to Armin or Mikasa because it hasn't been long since they stopped talking with their fists and there isn't anything that can replace years' worth of late-night ramblings about a type of nothing that means more than anything. But they're getting there. A soft type of intimacy colors the way their noses brush and their teeth make small pause symbols on each other's skin.

"Let me kiss you," Eren says.

The way Jean shakes his head is subtle, all in the nuances of muscles tensing. It's an admittedly kind rejection, but Eren still feels like his heart is breaking. He doesn't move for a moment. He's waiting for the explanation.

"Don't be so fucking selfish" is all Jean offers.

So the game goes on. It's a game they play, in which Jean doesn't give up bits of himself, and Eren is only human in wanting it all.

 

 **teenage dirtbag //**  i'm just a teenage dirtbag baby

Eren's cheeks are rosy and his breath is staccato. In the dry cold of a merciless winter they crowd close to the warmth between their bodies like they are the only ones left in an abandoned world. Jean smooths his thumb across Eren's cheekbones and buries his nose in Eren's neck, a smile creeping across his lips when he feels the throbbing vein there, vivid and booming with life.

"Do you believe me now?" Jean asks, a little on top of the world.

The way Eren doesn't answer straightaway brings Jean back down to Earth, and he pulls back to study Eren's face. Eren's lips--soft and wet and perfect on Jean's just a moment ago--draws into a tight frown. His eyes meet Jean's but he looks like he's seeing something else.

"But you kiss everyone," Eren says.

"No, I--" Jean is quick to defend. He deflates when he finds that he's dug himself in a hole so deep that he cannot possibly claw out in one sentence, so he only mutters, weakly, "Th--that's different, though."

Eren doesn't say anything after that, just unwinds Jean's arm from his waist and draws away from Jean's touch on his face. Jean watches him slip back into the school, bright and vivid against a background of newspaper greys. Eren isn't smart like Armin or inhumanly strong like Mikasa, but when he sets his mind on something, he'll give it his everything in a way that's almost fucking poetic: with tilted rhythm and no rhyme, positively  _organic_. And here Jean is pretending to be someone he's not just to feel like he's got a hold on himself, scared shitless to let people get their hands on the boy within. He's known long before this that his teenage uprising has gone too far, but it's only now that he realizes that he's so lost in this  _dirtbag_  character that he doesn’t even know where Jean Kirschtein went. He doesn't even deserve his own name, so why should he deserve Eren?

 

 **voyages //**  draw in your head and sleep the long way home

"There's nothing in the world like this," they say.

"And never to quite understand," they say.

But that's all just conceit because, with the expanse of the ocean stretched like a magician's taupe before him, Jean sees that they're neither much bigger nor more outstanding than the ants crawling at their feet. Maybe that's why people bind together, to find their strength in numbers.

"I should practice my argh," Eren muses, back slumped against Jean's side and head tilted on Jean's shoulder at an angle that must make him a bit sore. He doesn't move away, though, because he'll be doing too much of that soon enough.

"Your argh?"

"All pirates have a fierce argh," Eren says. "It's like automatic forfeit if you don't."

"Makes sense," Jean says wryly. "More importantly, though, remember to cast your flag. It's basic courtesy, but you're bound to forget because you're an inconsiderate little fuck sometimes." And okay, Eren is going off to be a  _pirate_  not a social worker, but still! Rules are rules.

"Yeah, okay, practice my argh with me," Eren says, brushing off Jean's very relevant advice. "Don't chicken out now when you've never had any trouble being...vocal." He waggles his eyebrows lewdly.

Jean jostles his shoulder so that Eren's head bounces. "Don't think we're talking about piracy anymore, captain stupid."

Eren gives a soft, breathy laugh. "Speaking of which, will celibacy be harsh on you?"

"As harsh as it will be on you, I guess," Jean says.

Eren backtracks: "Not that I'm holding you to anything. I mean, it's my choice to go away."

"That's true," Jean considers. "I suppose you wouldn't be able to blame me if I accidentally got wrapped up in someone with gorgeous eyes and killer curves."

As the person who's leaving Jean behind, Eren has no right to complain or contradict that statement. That doesn't mean he can't sulk about it. He picks at a hang nail until he pulls one too hard and a thin thread of blood rises from his skin.

"That's one option," Jean continues, lightly, as if he hadn't noticed Eren's fidgeting. Except, he's picking up Eren's bleeding finger and studying it curiously. "But it's kind of one of those things that makes no fucking sense, isn't it? When there are asses fuller and eyes greener out there waiting to be swept off the ground by your charm but you just want the person right next to you because--well shit, no, screw that, yours are probably as green as they get, huh?"

 _Lord have mercy, did I actually say that out loud._  Jean presses his face into Eren's hair and pretends that he isn't popping blood vessels from the rush of blood to his face.

Not without irritation, Jean feels Eren easing off his shoulder a moment later. He knows right away that he's made a fatal mistake when he sees Eren, the goddamn shithead, grinning up at him with his mouth and cheeks and eyes and nose and--Jean takes a shuddering breath. Eren really needs to take Jean's well-informed advice, goddammit, he thinks, as he stares into the brittle bristles of the most vibrant green on land or sea.

He can't even imagine more flagless a piracy.

 

 **darling, darling //**  i've watched you from every angle

"That's probably burning," says a distinctly non-Eren voice.

Jean whips around to see Mikasa at the doorway to the kitchen, Armin behind her, eyebrows raised so high they're bound to reach his hairline with another good push. It's probably Jean's state of dress. Or rather, undress.

Sputtering, Jean reaches for the small kitchen towel hanging off the wall in an attempt to make himself halfway decent. He'd forgotten that dating Eren more often than not means dating Mikasa and Armin, too. Dammit, he knows they're close as a bunch of kittens of the same litter, but who comes to their friend's apartment at 8:30 in the morning? Without knocking, no less!

Mikasa sidesteps Jean, doesn't spare a glance at the impromptu loin cloth he fashions over his underwear, to examine the damage done on the pan Jean's holding. She looks back up at him, unimpressed.

"You've been dating Eren long enough now to know that the kitchen is his kingdom and he will end you, right," she points out.

"But I was hungry!" Jean protests. He also thought he could pull off that bringing his boyfriend breakfast in bed thing and as a result receive a few awards for best boyfriend of the year, but.

"What were you trying to make?" Armin asks, peering over Mikasa's shoulder at the black...crust dubiously.

"Armin? Mikasa? What's going on?" Eren trudges in blearily, rubbing his eyes. Then, he stops in his tracks, blinking rapidly. "Oh. What are you doing next to the stove."

Giving Jean's shoulder a firm pat that doesn't even feel sympathetic, Mikasa mouths, "Do your best," and clears out of the kitchen. Armin imparts Jean with the ever wisdomous advice that honesty is the best policy, before hightailing out, fast on Mikasa's heel.

"Do they just--" Jean begins. "What were they even doing here?"

"I think we said we were going to take Christmas card pictures today?" Eren grumbles distractedly, shooing Jean aside and fussing with the pan Jean destroyed. "What _were_ you making?"

"Uh. Eggs?"

Eren squints at Jean's creation. "Sorry, was that eggs or kegs because I'm pretty sure you have to down an entire one of the latter to make eggs look like this."

"Sick burn, babe," Jean says dryly.

He doesn't really put much thought into what he's said until he sees Eren staring at him with big eyes. Jean thinks it shouldn't be such a big deal at this point in their relationship (it's a very casual term of endearment, after all), but Eren's kind of fidgeting in place, cheeks flushed red, and _\--god_  he's so gorgeous sometimes when he's not the tiniest bit aware of it. Eren's gnawing on his lip now, and Jean wants to be there, on his lips.

"Say it again," Eren says, sounding very small.

"Compliment your burn again?"

The flicker of irritation in Eren's eyes is telling of the fact that he knows Jean's messing with him and doesn't appreciate it a single bit. "We've had better morning afters," Eren grumbles. He scowls at the ruined pan.

"In particular, do you mean that one time I woke you up with my mouth around your dick," Jean suggests because that memory ought to serve  _some_  good.

"Your mouth anywhere it can't piss me off is always good," Eren says. He gives this child-like hmph and abandons the pan in his hands, turning to the coffee machine to replace his blood with caffeine. Maybe this is why he's always so high-strung on whatever catches his attention. Or it could be that it's just part of the personality Jean had to fall for despite that it's actually pretty much the worst, especially in front of Jean, with whom he has no reserves about speaking his mind or inhibitions in expressing himself.

They've seen each other at their kindest, their nastiest, and their most petulant and still managed to stick together, though. At this point, Eren can probably do no less than shit on Jean's bed to drive him away. And even then, there's always the launders.

"I could get my mouth there again," Jean says against the back of Eren's ear, pressing up against him from behind. "What do you say, babe?"

Jean feels Eren shudder in his arms a bit. "You're a bully and I hate you."

"Okay," Jean says, his body wrapping around Eren's like a blanket that's really receiving more warmth than the other way around. But that's okay because Jean finds other ways to offer warmth; he's resourceful that way. "So when are you going to start sending out Christmas cards with me?" 

Eren throws Jean a questioning look over his shoulder. "Thought you said Christmas cards were dumb and a waste of natural resources."

He doesn't mention that the one time he did ask Jean if they wanted to do a card with just the two of them, Jean had responded with a hearty serving of assholery and only stopped short of saying outright that he didn't need the whole world knowing about the two of them. Jean doesn't know if Eren is simply choosing not to scratch at an old scar or plain doesn't remember, but he wants to set things right.

"Well, it's also a great way to show off my hot boyfriend to everyone," he says. He hopes he sounds breezy.

And it's obvious in the way Eren turns in his arms and lights up like Christmas is here a whole whopping 30 days early that he hadn't forgotten at all. This is about where Jean reaches the end of his resolve to have a conversation of words and not tongues and grabs the back of Eren's neck to bring their mouths together. Eren meets him in the middle eagerly but is more pliant than usual, following Jean's lead and letting his lips be nibbled on without launching his own counterattack.

When Jean feels satisfied with his dose of Eren, he leans his forehead against Eren's and sighs. His lips are still tingling from the friction. But then, his non-atmosphere-reading stomach lets out an embarrassing growl and Eren snorts at him in his face.

"Okay, wanna make me breakfast now?" Jean demands to try to preserve a few specks of his dignity. His blush and sheepish grin might be giving him away.

"Sure," Eren says, casually. So casually that the promise in his next words don't even register in Jean's mind until Eren's long gone into the attic to dig out the back-up pan.

_Probably will until the day I cripple, to be honest, since you're apparently detrimental to kitchenware._

And Jean definitely isn't thinking about living with an old, winkled Eren or anything because that's way too far into a too nebulous future. But even if he were, it somehow doesn't scare him at all.

**the special two //**  our hands will not be taught to hold another's

Eren dreams of a different world. But unlike most people who dream of lands more fantastic and beautiful, Eren sees a world much more cruel than their own. Jean knows because he's been there too. Not nearly as often or in as vivid detail as Eren, but enough to know why Eren sometimes mumbles angry nonsense or thrashes in his sleep or wakes shrieking, tears running down his cheeks, shaking and terrified.

Eren says he's seen these nightmares since he was little, got sent to counsellor after counsellor to try to figure out what's wrong with him, but none of them could fix him. Now he just braves it on his own because there's no use feeding money towards a lost cause.

That's a bit unfair to say, Jean thinks, because for one, Eren isn't broken or a lost cause just because he gets nightmares of man-eating giants; and for another, Jean's there with him, isn't he? Eren doesn't have to brave it alone.

What is also unfair, though, is the fact that while Jean's always woken by Eren's episodes and holds Eren through them and sometimes gets hit in the face by Eren's flailing limbs, Eren sleeps like a fucking baby through Jean's dreams of suffocating, limitless walls. Jean would have griped to Eren about it the way they grumble at each other about everything, but he doesn't know how Eren would take to knowing that Jean gets these nightmares, too, probably on account of him. Jean never used to have nightmares before he got involved with Eren. He's wondered briefly before if they would go away if he and Eren left each other but, with Eren tucked tight in a small bundle against his chest, Jean thinks that that thought might actually be more terrifying than walls or giants.

Eren makes a choked sound like crushed air, in the back of his throat. Jean presses him closer, whispering reassuringly in his hair. Eren's body begins to tremble. Jean smoothes a hand up and down the rocky trail of his spine to soothe his nerves.

" _Jean_ ," Eren croaks and Jean freezes because it's the first time Eren's called for him in one of these dreams. Eren says his name again. Jean has a  _yes, yes that's me, I'm right here, Eren_ on his tongue _,_  but then Eren says in a wretched, broken voice, "I'm so glad you're alive," and Jean can't form words past the lump in his throat.

He won't ever know for sure what Eren's seen behind those closed eyes. To be honest he doesn't even really want to know because all that matters is that in this world, they're alive, safe in each other's arms, hearts beating too fast for the night--

And that's really more than fair enough.

 

 **drive by //**  oh i swear to you, i'll be there for you

A pulse.

It's weak, too weak for anything belonging to someone with Jean's stupid face and tactless personality, but it's there. Eren can almost cry with relief for just that. He doesn't, though, he can't, there isn't time, not when the rest of their squad is sacrificing their lives for the sake of the mission. For the sake of protecting Eren. Not when that's how Jean ended up a limp mess Eren throws onto the back of his horse in the first place.

But he makes a promise to himself, a note in thick letters and all caps, that if they both make it out of this alive, he's going to just say it. Like, really, stop dancing around the inevitable and pretending like he's only there for the rough get-offs and quick pleasure because no offense but the sloppy handjobs Jean gives him against the haystack really wouldn't be all that great if Eren's mind wasn't so clouded by the rough texture of his tongue and the musky scent behind his ears and the way he croaks Eren's name over and over like he doesn't have the vocabulary to describe how right they feel together.

Thump. Th-thump. Thump.

He needs Jean to know. He needs it in the same way humanity needs to defeat the titans and regain free reign to the rest of the world because, _fuck_ , this is what they  _deserve_. Every one of them was born on this earth to see the ocean, dance under the rain, kiss the person who makes them feel an  _I'm so in love with you_  slip inadvertently from their lips.

They're going to make it out of this, Eren chants to himself as a ten-meter class approaches them from behind, thundering forth at twice the speed of his heartbeat. They've made it through so much that it almost feels stupid to die here.

 _We're going to live. And I'm going to tell him_.

Thump. Th-thump.

 

_Thump._

 

**Author's Note:**

> I don't usually write vignettes/short-shorts but when I do I write seven. I hope these were somewhat enjoyable. All of them are based on a song or poem; bonus points to anyone who got the ones I didn't name by song title. (❁´◡`❁)
> 
> Thanks for reading! ♥


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